


Pas de Deux

by snapdragonpop007



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will, For reasons, Happy Murder, Happy Murder Family, Multi, Psychopaths In Love, Serial Killer Will Graham, Smitten Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Helps Himself, Will Graham Knows, Will is a manipulative little shit, but hannibal still likes him, happy murder husbands, im changing canon so will still has his accent, its a season one au guys, its gonna be a good time, like right off the bat he knows, theres murder guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapdragonpop007/pseuds/snapdragonpop007
Summary: “You don’t have to play your little mind games with me, Dr. Lecter.” Will gave a coy smile, crossing his legs and propping his elbow up on the arm of the chair. “I’m the same thing that you are.”If Hannibal was surprised, he didn’t show it. “And what might that be?”Will’s smile became a bit more brutal. “Someone who likes to put knives in people's hearts.”--Or—the one Will is the Copy Cat Killer, Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, and they start a strange courtship over murder and conversations.





	Pas de Deux

Will’s hands twitched.

He pressed his palms against his thighs, curling his fingers and squeezing until it hurt. He straightened his back, the office chair he was sitting in squeaking and grating on his ears. He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath and held it; held everything until he could safely let it out. 

Will had an _itch_ , and he needed to fix it before things got out of hand.

“Will Graham?” 

Will peeled his eyes open. 

“I’m Jack Crawford.” 

He held out his hand, but Will made no move to take it. He cast his eyes down to his desk, squeezing his palms past the point of painful. But then he let go, using one hand to push up his glasses and the other to fiddle with a pen. 

“What can I do for you, agent?” Will’s eyes flicked up briefly. 

“You’re not a fan of eye contact, are you?” Jack’s voice was gentle. 

“No, not really.” Will found himself trying not to scoff. “I always see too much.” 

Jack was silent long enough for Will to drop the pen and shuffle his lecture papers together. 

“Where do you fall on the spectrum?” 

Will did look up at that. No one had ever asked him that bluntly before. It was refreshing. “I’m more on the autistic end than the psychopath end if that’s what you're worried about. Now, if that all you want—“

Will shoved his notes and files in his bag. 

“I need your help with something.” Jack grabbed onto his arm and held him back. Will looked at it—large, powerful grip, squeezing Will’s bicep just a _tad too tight_ —then closed his eyes again. 

“I’m not sure how much help I can be.” Will ripped his arm out of Jack’s grip. “There’s a reason I’m in the classroom.” 

A few of Will’s lingering students looked over to the two of them. They scuttled out at Will’s glare, the door to the classroom swaying shut behind them. 

“I’m—aware—that you didn’t pass your psych eval.” It took a long time for Jack to look back at Will. “But I don’t need a clean bill of health for your help.” 

Will was silent for a long time. Long enough for him to shove the rest of the papers in his bag, to turn off the projector and the computer, to take his flash drive out of the USB port--long enough for Jack to sigh and turn to leave. 

“I take it this is about the Minnesota Shrike?” Will called out. 

Jack was quick to turn back around. “Yes.” 

Will couldn’t help the little hum that left his lips. He could admire the man’s work—it had a purpose. Everything the Shrike did was done for a reason. Will couldn’t claim that. Will only did what he did because of that little _itch_ at the back of his neck. 

“—ve heard about what you do. I was hoping I could borrow your imagination.” 

Will blinked slowly. Jack was looking at him expectantly, and Will was quick to look away again. 

Eyes. They were always too much. Said too much, showed too much, looked too much.

“I’ll think about it.” Will shouldered his bag and pushed past Jack. Jack looked too stunned to reply, and Will left the classroom before Jack could even try. 

Will’s hand twitched again, and he shoved it in his pocket as he swept down the halls.

Going to Minnesota was... _riskey_ wasn’t quite the word Will was looking for. _Daring? Tempting?_ Either way, Will couldn't lie and say he didn’t want to go. He wanted to see the man behind the Minnesota Shrike, to understand who exactly it is that drives him—maybe even shake his hand and tell him it's _a job well done_. There was certainly an art to it, in any case, and Will was always one to appreciate fine art. 

He gave another hum as he slowly made his way down the stairs. 

It would, however, be a good way to get rid of that pesky little _itch_. 

Will wanted to pretend his mind wasn’t made up for a little while longer, so he took a detour. He cut through the courtyard and the quad, jumping over a few flower beds before getting back on the paved path. He ducked his head as he kept walking, and soon enough he bumped into Alana. 

“Will!” she sounded pleasantly surprised. “What brings you to my side of campus?”

“You.” Will gave her a smile. 

The faintest flush bloomed across her cheeks. Her smile was bright and the corner of her eyes crinkled--it was beautiful, really, how her entire face would light up. 

“What’s the catch? You never stop by just to see me.” Alana started a slow walk down the path. 

Will fell into step beside her. “I just had Jack Crawford come visit me.” 

“What?” Alana stopped. She turned to look at Will, her lips tugging into a thin line. 

Will blinked at her. That was certainly an interesting reaction--expected, to an extent, but still interesting. “He wants my help with the Shrike case.” 

“But you haven't been in law enforcement--” Alana cut herself off. Will looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish. In three years? Since he had been stabbed? Since he killed someone? Since he had a mental break? “--Since you left Louisiana.” 

It was a lame finish, but Will let it slide. 

“It was only a matter of time, I guess.” Will started walking again, adjusting his bag to lessen the ache that was starting to form in his shoulder. “Gotta have the best, right?”

“You’re not actually going to do it, are you?” 

Will looked back at Alana. She was still standing on the path, her knuckles white around the handle of her purse. 

“I’m not sure yet.” the lie rolled easily off Will’s tongue. 

 

\--

 

This hadn’t exactly been in Will’s evening plans, but well--there was nothing he could do about it now. 

Will grunted as he hauled the body over his shoulders. The blood was still warm as it soaked into Will’s shirt and kissed his skin, fighting off a bit of the cold of the fall winds. Will still shivered, gritting his teeth and cursing out in French. He had been in Wolf Trap for three years and he still wasn’t used to the cold. 

At least his shirt was white; easy to clean. Small mercies, Will supposed. 

Will kicked open the trunk of his car. He rolled the body in, frowning at the smashed in face before slamming the trunk closed. He retrieved his knife from the side of the road and threw it in the back seat, kicked the blood soaked leaves further into the woods, scowled at the blood spatter and brain mesh on the road, and then turned to the dog that was sitting next to the open drivers side door of his car. 

“Hey, boy,” Will squatted down, holding out his open hand. 

The dog cocked his head, ears perking up. 

“You don’t have to worry about that man anymore,” Will kept his voice mellow. “I got rid of him for you.” 

The dog shakily stood. His fur was matted and caked in dirt, and Will could see the dog’s ribs and gashes in the skin and around his muzzle. Will felt another flair of anger, but he quickly stomped it down. 

“Let’s go home and get you cleaned up, yeah?” Will scooted forward. 

The dog froze. Will held his hand out a little further, running it along the dog’s flank as he came to Will. 

“There we go,” Will glanced down at the collar. “Winston.” 

Winston’s tail wagged. 

Will ran his fingers through Winston’s fur for a bit longer before guiding him back to the car. Will helped Winston up into the passenger seat, surveying the road one more time before circling back to the drivers side. 

He was going to have to find a place to dump the body. He didn’t have the bayou anymore, and Will wasn’t stupid enough to bury him in his own backyard. He supposed he could dump him in the woods, make it look like an accident. Will had smashed his head in enough to make it look like it, anyway. 

Will hummed at the thought, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. 

He hadn’t been expecting the man to take Will’s knife and fight back. Fortunately for Will the man had been drunk enough that Will was able to pin the man to the ground without too much of a struggle. It took Will one try to slam his head against the pavement and crack the skull. Three to bust it open, and four to spill the brain matter. 

Will flicked off his brights as he pulled into his driveway. 

He needed to get Winston cleaned up before he did anything. 

Will glanced at Winston before looking to the clock on his dash, then gave a soft sigh. It was going to be a long night. 

 

—-

 

“You look like shit.”

Will glared at Robert Wellgold. He was another psychology professor at the academy and a pain in Will’s ass. The amount of times he’s thought about dismembering this man was phenomenal. 

“The hell do you want?” Will looked back down to his lecture notes. 

“I heard Jack Crawford was looking for you.” Will felt Roberts eyes rake across his body. “Long night, Graham?” 

“I have a class in ten minutes.” Will looked back up with a frown. Robert held his hands up, giving a smile and a shrug. 

“Can’t I check up on you?”

Will sucked in a breath. He was hoping Robert would finally back off but—Will didn’t even know why he was surprised anymore. “I told you no the first ten times, and I’m gonna tell you no again.” 

Will’s students were starting to file in. 

“Come on—“

“I have a class to teach.” Will cut him off. He looked away, pushing his notes aside and moving to fiddle with the computer. He refused to look up until Robert was out of his peripheral, and when Will finally looked up it was to the door swinging shut and a full lecture hall. 

He wanted to kill Robert Wellgold. He shouldn’t, but dear god did he want to. 

Will rubbed at his eyes, then turned the projector on. 

Will breezed through the lecture. He realized he was going through it faster than usual, but he was running off of three hours of sleep and a cup of gas station coffee. He wanted to catch a quick nap before his next lecture, but when he looked to the door halfway through his lecture and saw Jack standing there all hope of that went through the window. 

He ended up letting his students go ten minutes early. Jack was by his desk before any of them left the room. 

“There’s been another.”

Will pushed his glasses up his nose. “Another what, Jack?”

“Abduction.” Jack’s hands were twitchy. He was nervous, agitated. 

“Get me some coffee first. Then we’ll talk.” Will shoved his notes and IPad in his bag, throwing it over his shoulder as he followed Jack out of the room. 

Will hardly paid attention as Jack launched into the details of the case. He knew it all already. He had been as obsessively following the Shrike’s case as he had his own--he knew the Shrike as well as he could without having actually met him. 

“--Elise Nichols was taken two days ago.” 

Will looked up from his coffee; too hot, too bitter. Just the way Will liked it. “You don’t have a body?”

“No,” Jack moved to the Shrike’s case board. Will blinked--he hadn’t realized they had already made it to the FBI offices. “But, she fits the profile.” 

“She certainly does.” Will moved closer to the bored. 

How much could he give away? What exactly was it that Will could say before Jack wondered why Will knew so much about the Shrike? That was the game that Will always played. _How much can I tell before you start to get suspicious of me?_

“He’s taking them for a reason, but it’s not what you think it is.” Will let his eyes fall shut for a moment. “All these girls are supposed to fill in for someone.” 

Who, Will couldn’t say. Someone close to him, someone that he loved. A girlfriend? Or perhaps a child. 

“What are you saying, Will?”

“I’m saying,” Will turned to look at Jack. “That he hasn’t found his golden ticket yet.” 

 

\--

 

Will held the mug of coffee tightly in his hands. It was scalding--burning his hands. 

He could still see Elise Nichols’s body whenever he closed his eyes. It was so incredibly _disappointing_. The design hadn’t been complete, the kill had been bad. It was all so terribly wrong and Will--

Will’s hands shook and he _itched._

“Will?”

Will jumped. The coffee in his mug sloshed dangerously close to the edge of the mug. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jack gave Will an apologetic smile, but that wasn’t what Will was paying attention too. Will was looking over Jack’s shoulder at the man standing behind him. “This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I’ve asked him to help us with the Shrike’s profile.” 

Hannibal took a few steps into Jack’s office and gave Will a charming smile as he held out his hand. Will took it, eyes darting up to look briefly at Hannibal’s and— _oh_. “It’s a pleasure.” 

“Is it?” Will dropped his hand. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. “A lot of people would tell you I’m not very pleasant.” 

Hannibal’s smile grew a little wider. “I don’t like to base my opinions on others, Mr. Graham.” 

Will tore his eyes away. He took a large gulp of his coffee, burning his tongue. He held the liquid in his mouth as Jack lead Hannibal to the board, swallowing when he was sure neither of them were looking. 

This was an interesting development. The Chesapeake Ripper, helping Jack Crawford on a case. 

Will slowly sipped his coffee, coming back to the conversation as Jack threw out Freddie Lounds’ name and a string of complaints and curses.

“Tasteless.” Will grumbled. His tongue burned, but he kept sipping his coffee. 

“Do you have trouble with taste?” Hannibal was looking at him, something in his eyes Will couldn't quite place. 

“Let’s just say that my thoughts aren't very tasty.” 

Hannibal was smiling again. “Neither are mine.”

Will blinked slowly. Oh, this was going to be _very_ interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> this is not what i need to be doing with my life but here i am. doing it


End file.
